Monday, October 24, 2011

#1 and #88 from Symphony No.5 (crow songs at dawn) by Ric Carfagna

1

Four crows in a sylvan grovewhen the moment was a boundaryto the lucidity of deathwhen the orchid field was drunkwith hermetic songs of dawn’s expanseit was then within the ossuary doorwaythree maidens appearedto drink the frozen libation of fatewhere words were archetypal scribingspassing into the tongueless ocean’s corporeal voidwhere the fragrance of belladonna and wisteriadied on a Paleolithic celestial shore where the gaping existential bloody net formedthe fog of a morning’s firmamental embracewhere the entangling prosthetic cognitive cleft awoke within the bended eyelid’s crepuscular shadespeak then here of the many clouded arias of isolationof the many flowering forsythia bloomsburning on the static mountain’s vernal tapestryof the many detached faces of losscowering in rooms with grey painted sloping eavesof the many chastened by a glass-eye blindnessfollowing the path darkness tracesthrough the clotted thistle-wind’s forest edge